Hard Corps (7 page)

‘Well, you know maybe that some people are just naturally dominant, right? And some are just naturally submissive. I don’t mean men versus women: it’s something deeper than that. I think you’re born to it, really. Most people tend one way or another. I personally think people that are drawn to the military have more pronounced tendencies, either dominant or submissive, but that’s just my opinion.

‘Because here you are either a soldier — a follower — or you are the leader. There is no in-between. Well, I am a follower, no question about that. I like the order and discipline of military life. I like knowing exactly where I stand, and what is expected of me. I like — ’ he hesitated, as if trying to find the word, or the courage to say it ‘ — to serve,’ he finally finished.

I was still waiting for the real story. So far he hadn’t said anything particularly novel. I mean, I understood the dynamics of a military hierarchy that naturally had leaders and followers. But I let him go at his own pace. He continued, relaxing a little as he warmed to his subject.

‘Some people were born to serve, and to submit; others to control, to use and to claim.’ My hands suddenly felt sweaty, and my throat was dry. Of course, I knew where I had heard these words before. Thoughts of Jacob flooded through me, causing me to draw in my breath to keep from moaning at the vivid memories of our last time together. Sam continued calmly, unaware of my discomfiture.

‘Normally in this society there is very little opportunity to explore these feelings in a controlled, safe environment. Well, here you can. It’s like heaven on earth for someone like me.’ He paused again, and looked at me slowly, a little smile now curling on his lips. I realised I was holding myself very still and tense. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I leaned back into the unyielding bench, trying to look nonchalant. Inside, I was coiled, as if ready for something I had always been waiting to hear.

‘Well — ’ he leaned very close to me, so that his nose was almost touching mine ‘ — it’s called the Slave Corps. It’s been around since the Academy was established, maybe longer. It’s a formalised SM club.’ I must have looked puzzled. He defined it. ‘Sadomasochism. You know. Whips and chains. Masters and slaves. OK, Remy, you can close your mouth now.’ I realised with a shock that it had actually fallen open and I shut it, biting my lips.

He went on, now clearly warming to his topic, fear of betrayal behind him, or just accepted. ‘But the Hard Corps isn’t just a sex-play group.’

I interrupted him, confused. ‘The Hard Corps? Didn’t you just say the Slave Corps?’

‘Oh,’ he laughed. ‘The Hard Corps is a joke, a nickname. I suppose I really should show more respect, but everyone calls it that. You know, like hard core.’ He laughed again, and then went on. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, it isn’t just a bunch of horny people getting together to get their rocks off in some kinky way. It’s a real life choice that we have made. If you join, you make a commitment to serve or to lead, as we say, with all your heart and all your soul. There are lots more submissives, or slaves, than real masters.’

‘Wow, Sam. This is too much. Who is in this group? How did you find out about it?’ How do I join? I didn’t say that, but somehow it came, unbidden into my head. I ignored it, focusing on Sam.

‘Of course, the group is mostly men, since this place is 85 per cent male, after all,’ he continued. But there are women, too. And not just students. Staff and professors are involved, too. If you join, you take a pledge to serve them all, or lead them all, depending on your position.’

I listened in stunned silence. Staff and professors too. Slaves, masters, serving, obeying, submitting. Sam tilted his head to one side, as if he were listening in on my thoughts. I shook my head, again to clear it, and said, ‘We’ve only been here for two months. How did you get so involved in all of this?’

‘My brother was here before me. He’s a senior now and very high up in the ruling echelons. He, unlike me, is dominant. I’ve known about this place for three years. It’s why I’m here. I could have gone to West Point; I have the grades. But they don’t have the Slave Corps. I’ve dreamed of submitting since I found my brother’s magazines and books on SM when I was fifteen. I read it all, inhaling it, needing it, craving it. It gave voice to something that had always been inside of me. When I finally got up the courage to tell my brother, he told me about the Slave Corps. He was a freshman here at the time, and he told me I would be able to join, at his recommendation, once I got here. It’s everything I dreamed it would be, and more.’

We sat for a while, both of us quiet. I kept wanting to say something, preferably something scathing and smart-assed about his being a pussy slave boy, but somehow it wouldn’t come out. Nor did I believe it. What I was really feeling was intense excitement. A club! Somewhere where you could explore the feelings safely, in a controlled environment. Not in the arms of a lover. But it was that lover, it was Jacob, who had awakened these feelings in me. And now Sam had put words to them. I understood him far better than I would have admitted to anyone, even myself, at that moment.

‘So,’ I finally said. ‘So there are whole groups of people into this stuff? And you “serve”? What does that mean, really? Do you call letting guys whip you and suck you off “serving”? Or is it more like you mostly wash their cars and lick their feet and stuff?’

‘Remy, I know you’re joking around, and I know you’re kind of shocked about all this. I haven’t really explained anything at all. Everyone’s experience is different. It’s a very individual process. Like the wrist thing: that’s just between me and a particular master.’

I flashed back to the upperclassman who had passed in the cafeteria. So he was a master! Who else was in the club? Two people walked by at that moment and I found myself staring at them, wondering, were they in the club? Who did I know who was in the club already? My mind was brimming with questions. The one uppermost in my mind popped out. Neither of us was expecting it, most especially not me!

‘How do you sign up?’ At last, I asked the question I had really wanted to ask.

‘Interested?’ he asked, his freckled face split into a grin, his expression at once surprised and pleased.

‘Well, no! I mean, I just — ’ Now it was my turn to blush, and as I did so, I turned my face, feeling the heat in my cheeks and neck.

‘It’s all right, Remy. Don’t feel ashamed. It’s a natural curiosity. Even if you aren’t dominant or submissive yourself, you probably have some tendency, some basic interest. It’s just a part of human nature. I’ll tell you what!’ His voice was suddenly enthusiastic, almost pleading. ‘I can invite you to a stage show. We’re allowed to invite a guest, if we think that guest is ripe for recruitment. Always looking for a few good men.’ He laughed at his own reference to the Marine slogan.

‘On Thursday there will be a showing of some of the novice slaves. We’ve been training in some military exercises with a, um, twist. It’s going to be pretty intense. But if you’re interested…’ He trailed off, his hands twisting in his lap. I realised I had been holding my breath as I listened to him, my eyes as wide as plates.

‘Man.’ I finally let out a long breath that ended in a sigh. ‘Will you be in the show?’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly, ‘I will.’

I looked at him, appraising his lean, wiry frame, his tousled, red hair, his fair, freckled skin. He didn’t look like a ‘slave’, whatever a slave looked like. It must have taken enormous courage to share all of this with me, I realised, as he looked down, waiting for some response. When none was forthcoming, he reached around his neck and unclasped what seemed to be a necklace chain.

Holding his hand out to me, he said, ‘This is my key. My key to the bell tower. You can’t get in without it. You keep it. Just till Thursday. You keep it and think about all this. If you decide you don’t want to go, just give it back to me, or put it in my mailbox. If you want to go, meet me at the fountain on Thursday, at 1900 hours. I’ll take you. I’ll introduce you to the right people. Then, you know, I’ll have to leave you, because I’m in the show.’ He was standing now, no longer nervous. He even seemed defiant, daring me silently to put down his submissive status. I realised I liked him.

‘OK, Sam. I’ll keep the key. I have to admit that you’ve got me way curious. But I don’t have to do anything if I go, do I? I mean, I’ll check it out, but no one better mess with me. They’ll know I’m just a, um, an observer, right?’

‘Oh, no one will “mess with you”, don’t you worry. Not unless you give them express permission to do so.’

I took the key. It was curiously heavy and thick; it felt like real gold. It was hung on a fine, pinkish-gold chain. I put it in my pocket, still fingering it as we walked back to the barracks, both of us silent with our own thoughts.

T
hursday evening found me at the fountain, all right. I had the key in my hand and it felt so smooth and heavy, so right, somehow. Sam sauntered toward me in his olive drab fatigues, same as me. He smiled at me, looking a little nervous, as I’m sure I did too.

‘I’m supposed to be at the library,’ I whispered. ‘I could get killed for this.’

‘I’m supposed to be right here,’ he grinned back at me. ‘One of the perks of membership. The rules change. You become part of an elite. You get freedoms, so to speak, that you don’t have as a regular cadet.’ As he spoke, Sam held out his hand, and I was actually reluctant to part with the key I had had for two days. I had grown fond of it, somehow. I found myself wishing it were mine. Instead, of course, I handed it to him, feeling his cool palm against my hot one as the key passed back to him.

‘Let’s go.’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be late.’ We walked toward the bell tower. As we approached the old vine-covered building, I saw the little door in its side. Sam walked right up to the door. After inserting the key into the lock, he pulled the little door open and gestured for me to enter before him. As I walked ahead, he pulled the door closed behind us and it shut with a click.

We were in a little corridor, at the head of a curving staircase. Sam took the lead, and I followed behind him, anxious with trepidation and excitement. What was I getting myself into? At the bottom of the stairs there was a long hall. Sam and I walked, still silently, toward one of the doors. The hallway was thickly carpeted, luxuriously so. It was lit by frosted glass sconces set at intervals of a few feet along the wall. The walls were painted a dark-cream colour and I was reminded of a grand old hotel. It was hard to believe this was the basement of some broken-down bell tower on a college campus.

Sam stopped in front of a door and knocked softly. After a moment, the door silently opened and a young woman dressed in a sheer, black bodysuit ushered us in. It was as if it were painted on her flesh: I could see her nipples, her pubic hair, the shape of her breasts and thighs. She looked down as we entered and I couldn’t really see her face. Ignoring her, Sam pulled me along with him, wending his way between tables closely placed to one another. The place had the atmosphere of a small jazz bar, with low lighting and white tablecloths covering maybe ten round tables which seated only three or four at most. Sam led me to a table near the stage, where three people were already sitting.

Sam kneeled suddenly, as if we were in the presence of royalty. As he went down, he pressed my shoulder so that I fell into a sort of ungraceful crouch next to him.

‘Ah, Sam. What have you brought for us today? A new recruit?’ The woman who spoke had a deep, almost masculine voice, but that was the only masculine thing about her. She was small, with delicate features. Her little mouth was curved up in a smile as she looked at me. She looked familiar to me but I couldn’t place her at the moment. Her large, brown eyes seemed to look right through me, and I had to look down to keep from blushing. She was dressed in a dark-blue dress of what seemed to be soft leather. As she stood, pushing her chair back from the table, her dress clung to her small breasts and cinched in at her impossibly small waist.

‘Stand up, girl,’ she said to me gently, her hand lightly touching the top of my head. I did so, feeling awkward and huge next to the petite woman. She moved in very close to me, so that I moved back, uncomfortable with her closeness. She stiffened then and started to speak, but Sam interrupted her.

‘Oh! Excuse me, ma’am! This is my guest, ma’am. She isn’t a recruit, um, not yet, anyway.’

I shot him a look but he ignored it.

‘Is that so? Well, you would do well to teach her some manners, novice. I will forgive you because you are new. And you — ’ she turned to me, no longer smiling ‘ — you are here to watch the show, eh? Well, you can look, but keep your mouth shut. This isn’t a peep show. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I whispered, angry with myself for already making a mess of things. I realised that I must have angered her by moving back. I guessed a ‘slave’ or ‘new recruit’ wouldn’t have dared to do such a thing.

‘Well, then,’ she said, softening a little. ‘You may sit with us.’ Suddenly I knew where I had seen her. This was Dr Wellington, a chemistry professor at the Academy. She wasn’t regular army; several professors on campus weren’t. I wasn’t sure whether to salute or not, so I kept my hands at my sides, standing military straight.

‘Novice, go get ready for the show. I know you’ve been practising hard and I can’t wait to see the results.’

Sam melted away and I saw that there was an extra chair at the little table, which Dr Wellington gestured for me to take. I sidled into it, feeling very uncertain and insecure. As I sat, she said, ‘And what may we call you?’

‘My name is Harris, ma’am. Cadet Remy Harris.’

‘Ah, you are Harris? Ellen Roster is your sergeant, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ I answered, wondering how she could possibly know this.

‘Yes, Ellen has mentioned you, though I don’t quite see what caught her attention. But then, in those awful fatigues, who can tell anything.’ I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but didn’t feel free to inquire. I realised she was gently putting me down in some way and I didn’t like it. But I didn’t dare question her.